


Bored and idle

by MissTeaVee



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 11:28:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17021832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissTeaVee/pseuds/MissTeaVee
Summary: Import from LJ days. Shameless robot porn, Bayverse Wreckers. ME in 2011 was not a good summary writer:The Wreckers are cooped up at NASA 24/7 and they have very few outlets for their frustrations. Solution? take it out on each other. The fun way.Warnings:Scottish accents, STICKY. STICKY. STICKY. Dear lord. Also, roughsex and some people might call dubcon, but its not intended.





	Bored and idle

_-Ey Spinny.  
  
  
-Wot?  
  
  
-It just me or’is Arby a wee bit wound up lately?  
  
  
-Mm, ain’t just him you know, s’these humans, they frag me off too, ’nd they dun even let us outta this damn base.  
  
  
-Ah know its ridiculus.  
  
  
-Maybe we c’n work some tension out, ah’re way.  
  
  
-Hehe, ah like the way ye think buddeh._  
\- - -  
Roadbuster grumbled and flipped the tiny remote in his hand. He was bored. Bored, B-O-R-E-D. Humans and their rules. Why the hell couldn’t he and his de facto brothers be let out of NASA’s sight for even a few hours? Keeping them cooped up wasn’t going to “improve their attitudes,” it would make them meaner. It wasn’t the Wreckers’ faults that they said it as they saw it, and the other Autobots were just uptight. The whole thing with Sentinel Prime had practically been a vacation for the stir-crazy group; It’d been the first time they’d left NASA since coming to Earth, and here they were cooped behind easily squished fences and Prime’s orders again.  
  
  
He tossed the remote absently a few minutes, and looked at it with a little smirk. He’d finally managed to lift the device off the human Epps, who used it whenever he decided that the Wreckers were too much for the NASA techs to handle. At this point though, the Wreckers were somewhat tired of reruns, and it had been their mission for the past couple weeks to change the channel on the bloody PVR to see what else was on. Above him, there was a resounding clang.  
  
  
“Oie, Arby, stop ooglin’ it an’ put on somethin’!” Leadfoot, apparently tired of waiting, peered over the edge of his seat, and made a grab at the remote. Deftly avoiding the swipe, Roadbuster flipped the TV on and went to the TV Guide.  
  
  
“Ease it Stumpy,” He grinned up at the red mech. “Dun want yah falling down now.”  
  
  
Leadfoot grunted, and Topspin, on the top seat, snickered. “seats” was actually a minor misnomer; At some point, the Wreckers had cut away at was once a freight elevator shaft in their hangar, and set up long, wide panels of metal, big enough for them to lay on. Basically, a three decker bunk bed.  
  
  
“I thought you guys don’t sleep.” Epps had commented upon discovering the setup.  
  
  
“Ain’t for sleepin’ on,” Had been Leadfoot’s reply, along with a leer. “Fer rechargin’, watchin’ the tube, an’ more  _fun_ activities,” Wisely, Epps had decided to walk out without further comment.  
  
  
Roadbuster found a race about to start on Speed channel and set the PVR to record, then flipped around to see if there was anything else interesting. News, fallout from the Decepticon attack on Chicago mostly, some stupid stories of hope, one about the motion banning Autobots being withdrawn…  
  
  
“Humens,” Commented Topspin, Roadbuster leaned over and looked up, Noting that he could see one of Leadfoot’s legs hanging over the second bunk, and if he stretched a bit, Topspin’s shoulder canons and his chain-link “hair” hanging off the top shelf. Apparently he was laying sideways on the bunk, part of his upper body hanging over the edge. Roadbuster could also see Leadfoot scowling intermittently at one of the canons hanging in his line of view. “Always causing some clusterfuck or other, and then blamin’ others. They gotta love us, Cybertonains’re perfect scapegoats fer all their problems nowadays.”  
  
  
Leadfoot and Roadbuster grunted in agreement simultaneously, Roadbuster changing the channel again and letting out a snort of disbelief at the show that came on. “Dafuck?”  
  
  
“By tha’ cube, killin’ those humans would be helpin’ their genetics,” Muttered Leadfoot.  
  
  
Roadbuster ran a quick search of the human internet with his connection- “secure wifi” networks, in or out of range be damned. “Eh~ Coordin’ to tha’ web, lotsa humans think so too.”  
  
  
“Change eet.” Snapped Topspin, Roadbuster complied and switched over to some show about a gun making company. “Aha! Our people!”  
  
  
“Gotta appreciate folk who make things shoot in ways they were never intended, Ah like this Red Jacket company.” Agreed Roadbuster gleefully. He stretched out on his bunk and turned the volume up. For a few minutes, the Wreckers were silent, but then Leadfoot spoke up.  
  
  
“Ey, the doors locked?”  
  
  
Roadbuster didn’t even glance away from the TV. “Yah, course they are. They lock whenever we close em behind us.”  
  
  
“Good,” there was a second resounding clang above him, followed by a yelp and Roadbuster shuttered his optics in amusement as Topspin fell in front of him, landing on the floor shoulder cannons first. Then Leadfoot followed his tallest teammate, landing on Topspin’s back and wrapping his powerful hands around the mounting mechanism for Topspin’s cannons. The blue Wrecker rolled and managed to hook one of his gripper claws under Leadfoot’s armour, trying to dislodge the shorter mech from one of his few exposed weak points.  
  
  
Roadbuster watched with interest, mentally analyzing the wrestling match. Before they’d adopted their earthen modes, he and Topspin had been about equal in skill, reach and strength, but since taking on their NASCAR alts, Topspin had gotten his gripper claws, giving him a significant reach advantage. Leadfoot had always had a strength advantage on the other Wreckers, and he had less stuff to grab and hold onto than the other two. But a good snap from Topspin’s claws around Leadfoot’s leg was all it took for the two to go rolling off towards the far wall. Glad that the TV was mounted at the height of the middle berth, Roadbuster hit the off switch and rolled to his feet, padding towards the tussle.  
  
  
They were bored and stir crazy. Trapped by their loyalty to Optimus and his orders, they had no choice but to obediently sit tight. It was frustrating, and they had few outlets for their energy and frustration. Fighting and working to rebuild the  _Xantium_  were pretty much it, and the humans got nervous whenever the Wreckers pulled out weapons to practice their combat, no matter where in the compound, and their little haven wasn’t big enough for real sparring. Besides, all they had to do with the ship rebuild was check the work the human technicians were doing every night and correct any errors made; NASA wanted to do all the work so they could learn how the  _Xantium_  worked. All that was left for the Wreckers was yelling at humans, a very ignoble fate for the battle-hardened team.  
  
  
“Need any help thare?” Roadbuster chuckled and watched his teammates struggling and grunting, noting where they’d already managed to scrape paint onto each other’s frames, thinking that there’d be a lot more transfer before any of them were tired and nudged Topspin with his foot. “Or are you two gonna screw each other silly without me?”  
  
  
The instant after his foot touched his blue teammate, Roadbuster realized his mistake; both Leadfoot and Topspin looked up with identical smirks and each grabbed at a leg, yanking Roadbuster off his feet. With a squawk, he went down, and faster than he could react, he was pinned by his arms to the cold floor. Above him, Leadfoot’s grin widened.  
  
  
“Cheaters…” Grunted Roadbuster.  
  
  
“Mhmm… And you fell for it prettyboi.” Replied Topspin; he shifted his gripper claws so Leadfoot could grab and hold their unofficial leader’s wrists, taking the time to slide his fingers all the way down Roadbuster’s frame, earning a growl of mild displeasure.  
  
  
“Fair’n square,” Added Leadfoot who squeezed Roadbuster’s wrists pointedly. The green Wrecker huffed and let his head drop onto Leadfoot’s knee, surrendering. Topspin folded his gripper claws back out of the way and hooked one hand under the pinned Wrecker’s thigh, pushing it up and to the side. Roadbuster grunted softly, fidgeting slightly when Topspin’s fingers stroked at his codpiece. He had to concede that they’d gotten him fairly, but he still resented the trick, and showed his ire by refusing to let his paneling snap open, for all of the three seconds that it would slow Topspin down. His hips were elevated and he could feel Topspin’s warm codpiece pressing against his valve cover.  
  
  
Fingers teased over his valve cover before Topspin easily clicked open the latch. He dipped a finger in, and smirked when his green teammate made a protesting sound that was certainly not a squeak. Roadbuster, for his part, jerked in his teammates’ hold, straining against Leadfoot’s hands. Leadfoot tightened his grip to keep the squirming down. “Lube ‘im up for me Spinny! I want ‘im dripping when my turn comes ‘round” He urged Topspin, who grinned and pushed Roadbuster’s legs up, holding them tightly and grinding his codpiece against the green mech’s bared valve.  
  
  
Roadbuster moaned quietly, offlining his optics and relaxing his arms. Leadfoot rewarded the cooperation by releasing one wrist to hook his hand under a panel in Roadbuster’s chest, seeking out an oft-overlooked cluster of sensors that would make him gasp and squirm. Grinning when he achieved the desired result, Leadfoot recaptured Roadbuster’s wrist and stretched his arms up, watching Topspin push his spike into their semi-willing victim’s valve. Roadbuster yelped, one leg straightening into the air and jerking with Topspin’s initial thrust. It felt good, and the green Wrecker arched his back, grunting softly with each thrust. He felt Leadfoot shift, pinning his hands under the red racer’s knees, leaving Leadfoot’s hands free to roam over Roadbuster’s frame.  
  
  
And roam they did; Roadbuster groaned when practiced fingers sought out the hinges for his shoulder mounts, petting and squeezing the delicate mechanisms. Because of their profession, the Wreckers had very few weak points; but the hinges and motor arms that supported their shoulder cannons had to be exposed, making them an ideal place to torment when trying to drive each other mad. Topspin growled, hands sliding down Roadbuster’s thighs to his hips, where they squeezed and lifted his teammate’s frame to change the angles of his thrusts. Roadbuster panted, vents whirring softly. Pinned as he was, there wasn’t very much room for him to cycle cool air, but he wasn’t going to say anything for at least a couple rounds, or he’d never head the end of it.  
  
  
More than willing to go along now, the trapped Autobot hooked his legs around Topspin’s waist, valve clenching along the length of Topspin’s spike. Leadfoot slid his hands between Roadbuster’s back and the armour shielding it, seeking out an exposed rotator. It was a weakness, but one that Roadbuster had to deal with. He was the flexible one, and putting armour around that joint would limit his range of movement. That was why he had paneling stretching down from his shoulders; to shield the delicate area. There were small sensor bands along the joint, and Roadbuster yowled in ecstasy as fingers dug sharply into the area surrounding it. Smirking, Leadfoot scraped his fingers over the joint, watching Topspin expertly snap their captive’s codpiece open so he could wrap a hand around the rapidly extending spike. “Slow it down Spinny, dun want him getting ahead, now…”  
  
  
“Not… mm, much risk of that,” Grunted Topspin, thumb brushing over the tip of Roadbuster’s spike, smearing the rivulets of transfluid that dripped from the head slowly. He squeezed slowly, until his captive arched up with a high-pitched moan. The red Wrecker recaptured Roadbuster’s arms to ensure that he wouldn’t move too much, and nodded in satisfaction.  
  
  
“Yah ever noticed that ‘is voice gets higher when there’s somethin’ in ‘is valve?” He remarked, grinning when Roadbuster flushed in embarrassment. Topspin let out a strained laugh, pausing to collect his thoughts.  
  
  
“Now that you mention it…” His glossa darted across his lips. “So if something bigger were put in there, would he go up an octave?”  
  
  
“Henh, we’ve lots o’time to find out,” Replied Leadfoot. “Now ‘urry up before ah get impatient!”  
  
  
Roadbuster had taken the pause as an opportunity to cycle cool air, and he wasn’t paying attention for a few critical seconds. So when Topspin thrust viciously into him, he was unprepared, and cried out in surprise. He let out sharp, needy sounds as the Weapons specialist rammed into him, and wailed when he overloaded, dragging Topspin over the edge with him. Their red companion watched intently, grinning when Roadbuster slumped weakly against the floor, and the blue mech braced himself on his arms, taking a moment to recuperate before pulling out and rolling over to the side.  
  
  
“All yours Leadhead,” He said. “Nice an’ wet, like you wanted.”  
  
  
“Thank’ya kindly.” Leadfoot waited for Topspin to come and claim Roadbuster’s arms, and then moved around to straddle their captive. The Green Impala still had plenty of fight left in him, and if he decided to try and reverse his position with one of the other two, he might have succeeded if he wasn’t properly restrained. For his part, Roadbuster remained limp, biding his time. He knew that as long as he remained passive, there was a chance that one of his teammates would slip up and give him the chance to gain an advantage. He grunted softly when his red teammate shoved two fingers into his valve and whimpered when those fingers scizzored apart. Leadfoot smirked. “Ah yes, very soft, good job Spinny.”  
  
  
He pulled his fingers out and inspected them. Roadbuster opened his mouth to speak, but was silenced when Leadfoot covered his mouth with his clean hand. Letting out a muffled growl, the warrior chewed on his teammate’s fingers, earning a chuckle as Leadfoot continued to inspect the fluids dripping from his hand, opaque blue transfluids and translucent purple lubricants swirled together viscously, but not mixing. He smiled faintly and slipped his lubed fingers into a leg joint, tormenting a hydraulic line, leering when Roadbuster writhed. “Yah, take it Arby. Yer ours till we’re bored, an’ you know it.”  
  
  
Roadbuster’s optics offlined and he focused on the sensation of fingers caressing over his frame, skirting teasingly around his spike and valve, leaving little streaks of fluids over his body, little shudders rolling though him. “Nngh, ah was comin’ t’a help you ya know.”  
  
  
Topspin snickered. “Y’are… probably not how yah meant to though.” He pinned both of Roadbuster’s wrists in his left gripper claw and ran his right hand along Roadbuster’s chest, hooking his fingers under the armour and pulling steadily until his teammate released the catches in his armour, loosening seams so that both Leadfoot and Topspin could dig their hands into his frame, tweaking at sensors and tugging on fuel lines. One of them, the green Wrecker wasn’t sure which, traced over the number “88” on his back. Leadfoot thrust his fingers back into the green mech’s valve, meeting Topspin’s optics and nodding. The blue Wrecker slammed his open palm down onto Roadbuster’s chest, leaving a faint dent and scratching the armour. “Like it RB?”  
  
  
“Ngh!” The green mech arched up, optics flaring under his visor as his frame jerked. His teammates laughed wickedly, and Leadfoot let his own spike extend to brush Roadbuster’s thigh. “You guys still cheated…” He muttered. Topspin sniggered.  
  
  
“Yep, too bad for you.”  
  
  
“’Old Still Roadie,” Ordered Leadfoot, lifting Roadbuster’s legs to hook them over his shoulders. Huffing, the green Racer straightened his frame aggressively, making Leadfoot jerk back and nearly loose his grip. But Topspin’s gripper claws kept the mech in place, and Leadfoot swatted the side of Roadbuster’s hip. “Nice try,” He squeezed the top of his teammate’s thigh until the metal started to buckle, and thrust hard into the other’s valve, grinning widely when his unofficial leader yelped.  
  
  
Slumping in defeat, Roadbuster let himself be shoved against the floor, accepting his teammates’ rough treatment as part of the pleasurable ordeal. He let his head fall back, baring his neck cables, an irresistible invitation to Topspin, who leaned down and bit sharply into the soft metal, drawing energon. Moaning eagerly, the green Wrecker pushed his legs against Leadfoot’s chest, adding pressure to the walls of his valve, and he undulated his frame upwards in excitement, eager for a second overload. But he wasn’t going to be let off so easily, and Topspin pulled on his arms sharply, causing the trapped mech to slide backwards and loose his anchoring. Leadfoot growled, raising himself above Roadbuster and slamming into him viciously, drawing a sharp cry of frustration.  
  
  
Leadfoot grunted in enjoyment, and Roadbuster could see him analyzing the best way to make him writhe. Lusty and desperate, the Green Wrecker squeezed his ankles against the side of Leadfoot’s neck, tiny rivulets of energon dripping from the bite Topspin had left. For his part Topspin was ensuring Roadbuster had as little control over the situation as possible, holding his arms tightly enough to bend metal. The lead Wrecker relished the sensations, and squirmed enticingly, groaning when Leadfoot forced a finger into the valve above his spike, stretching the soft walls until Roadbuster mewed in frustration and pain, his masochism only going so far. Leadfoot paused to let his friend adjust, and then crooked his finger, cocking his head to one side as lubricants escaped through the small gap. He grinned and removed his hand, leaning down so his face was just above his needy teammate’s chest. Roadbuster keened, hips bucking up, and Leadfoot finally gave him release, thrusting in and out roughly, snarling as he overloaded into the clenching valve.  
  
  
The Green mech cried out, twisting in Topspin’s hold. He slumped limply, barely moving when Leadfoot prodded his abdomen, prompting a snigger. “Tired already Arby?”  
  
  
Roadbuster didn’t deign to reply; he knew that he was going to need to reserve his strength. His optics were dim, but they snapped online when Topspin released him prematurely, perhaps thinking that there was no more fight in the green mech. Leadfoot, distracted, didn’t notice as he stretched smugly, patting Roadbuster’s thigh. Suddenly faced with the chance to swap positions with one of the others, if he played it right, the lead Wrecker considered which of the two he wanted to pin the most; Topspin or Leadfoot. Deciding that Leadfoot was much too smug, Roadbuster hooked his legs around one of his red teammate’s thigh and grabbed an arm, rolling, trying to pin his shorter, more powerful teammate. Leadfoot yelped, bracing himself against the floor, cursing at Topspin for letting go. To his credit, the blue Heavy recovered quickly and grabbed for Roadbuster’s arms, but the green Wrecker wasn’t going down so easily this time, and one leg shot out to stabilize him.  
  
  
Unfortunately, he was still outnumbered, and when Topspin’s gripper claws closed over his shoulder joints, Leadfoot bucked up, catapulting Roadbuster to the side. Topspin hooked his elbows under Roadbuster’s arms, holding him securely. Leadfoot wasn’t done yet though, and slammed his fist into his blue teammate’s shoulder. “Dumbass, yeh should know better than t’ae let ‘im go!”  
  
  
The green Wrecker couldn’t supress a grin; sure, he was trapped again, but it was still a victory for him, and they all knew it. Topspin shot Leadfoot a glare, tightening his grip on his captive. Leadfoot snorted and lifted Roadbuster’s hips, dropping them roughly onto Topspin’s thighs, earning a glare from Blue and a snort of amusement from Green. Shaking his head, Leadfoot grabbed Roadbuster’s forearms and pulled him forward slowly, while Topspin let their teammate’s frame slide through his claws, drawing the green mech onto his forearms and knees.  
  
  
Flaring his shoulder cannons, Roadbuster stretched his spinal struts, bared valve exposed to Topspin. The blue Wrecker made a pleased noise, rubbing at the entrance to the valve, returning the burning look that his pinned teammate gave him. Leadfoot grabbed one of the horns on Roadbuster’s helm and used it to manhandle his friend all the way to the ground, chest scraping the floor and head in the red mech’s lap, cheek brushing Leadfoot’s spike intermittently. Roadbuster groaned softly, turning his head away slightly, and Leadfoot let him. Still, Leadfoot nudged Roadbuster’s helm until the green Wrecker nuzzled at his friend’s spike, the sharp prongs of metal extending from his helm leaving odd, delicious sensations along the length of Leadfoot’s shaft. He smiled to himself and turned his head slightly more, enjoying the way Leadfoot growled and cursed at him.  
  
  
Topspin thrust smoothly into Roadbuster’s valve, gripping tightly at his teammate’s hips as he moved. Roadbuster yowled, shoving himself backwards around Topspin’s spike. Leadfoot laughed, apparently pleased by Roadbuster’s eagerness, and rubbed at his friend’s sensory horns. “At’s it Arby… nice an’ smooth,” The red Wrecker slid his hands along the joints to Roadbuster’s shoulder mount, caressing the delicate joint between two fingers, and smiled when Roadbuster jerked from a sharp thrust. The green mech dug his fingers into Leadfoot’s thighs, panting eagerly. Topspin elevated Roadbuster’s hips, wrapping his hand around his teammate’s spike and gently pumped it.  
  
  
The Green Wrecker whimpered, clenching his valve tightly. He ground back onto Topspin’s thighs, rubbing at Leadfoot’s legs, helm brushing the shorter mech’s spike. His head was pulled back, and he met Leadfoot’s optics with a desperate look, quietly demanding another overload. Leadfoot grinned and closed his hands around Roadbuster’s shoulder mounts, working his friend up with practiced strokes. Topspin grunted, slamming himself into the warm valve, leaving small dents in Roadbuster’s thigh. Gasping out, the green mech writhed, twisting his frame against his teammates’ bodies until he couldn’t take the friction anymore, and he cried out in sweet release, valve tightening around Topspin’s spike until his teammate followed him into overload. Panting, Roadbuster slumped forward into Leadfoot’s lap, more than ready for a breather, not that he was going to get one. He groaned when Topspin slid out, fluids dripping out of his abused valve and sliding down his thighs. Topspin patted his aft and pulled Roadbuster into a sitting position, hooking his hands under his teammate’s thighs, baring the valve to Leadfoot, who wasted no time in kneeling down and kneading at Roadbuster’s thighs.  
  
  
“Tired yet?” He teased, watching Roadbuster’s optics flicker dimly, fingers sliding slowly into the Green mech’s valve and pumping gently against the soft walls. The green Wrecker moaned lowly, head falling back to rest on Topspin’s shoulder. The other two weren’t even holding onto him anymore, just supporting his frame. Hands slide under his armour to tease at protected joints, and he grunted at Leadfoot when the red mech slid his fingers along the inside of his valve. “Henh, ‘es pretty soft Spinny, think ‘e could fit us both now?” Under his visor, Roadbuster’s optics widened, and when he looked over his shoulder, Topspin’s thoughtful look wasn’t that reassuring.  
  
  
“Hmmm, Mebbe, though that’d take a bitta work,” He decided. Roadbuster squirmed futilely, too tired to resist when Leadfoot pushed into him. “Mmm… an experiment for next time,” Topspin slid his fingers around Roadbuster’s spike again, gently coaxing it erect, taking a lot longer than the first time.  
  
  
“Ah! G-guys!” the green wrecker squirmed harder; he was already too close to overload, tired and wrung out. Transfluids dribbled from the tip of his spike, and practically overflowed from his valve. “Ah need a minute…”  
  
  
Leadfoot chuckled and pushed up his teammate’s leg. “Once ah’m done Roadie.” He growled and thrust viciously, making Roadbuster yelp and writhe, pushing the green mech back against Topspin’s chest. “Feels good, don’t it Arby? No matter what, mmm?”  
  
  
Topspin grinned, holding Roadbuster’s hips tightly, supporting his fellow Wrecker’s frame for Leadfoot to claim. “Henh… he’s not gonna last very much longer Leadhead.”  
  
  
“That’s…” Leadfoot grunted and compressed his green comrade’s thighs. “Fine wit’ me.” The green Wrecker writhed and bucked, body twisting lithely as he arched. Leadfoot slowed his thrusts, but kept up the pressure until he reached his own completion, drawing small whimpers and moans as Roadbuster hung limply. Pulling out, Leadfoot guided Roadbuster down onto his side and let his friend rest, giving Topspin a smug smack on the shoulder. “Four rounds fer ‘im.”  
  
  
“Hmmm, not bad; usually he can last a couple more though,” Commented Topspin, amused. “Course, usually we leave ‘im on his stomach. Looks like he needs his cool air.”  
  
  
Leadfoot grunted assent, and reached over to tug teasingly at Topspin’s chainmail “Dreadlocks,” grinning in amusement. “Lessee how long till he’s ready fer another round.”  
  
  
Roadbuster panted softly on the floor, shifting his legs to ease some of the stress in them. He turned his watch his teammates carrying on without him, vaguely amused when they rolled a few meters away to settle who was on top. More than happy to take this rest, he set a hand on his thigh and blinked when it slid right off. He turned his head slightly to observe his lower body, and noticed that he had a coating of fluids; his own transfluids and lubricants, and the other two’s transfluids giving his legs quite the impressive sheen. His valve was sore, and he wasn’t too surprised that there were still fluids dripping out of it; there was no way he could absorb so much in such a short time, and he sighed tiredly, resting his head on an arm to watch the other two. He felt a small twinge of residual arousal as he watched them, pleased to see Topspin trapped on his back; what Leadfoot lacked in reach, he certainly made up for with strength and cunning.  
  
  
Topspin had his arms hooked around Leadfoot’s neck, and his legs coiled over the shorter mech’s thighs. The two of them were pressed together tightly, some armour overlapping and Roadbuster could only tell them apart due to the contrast in colour. He could see some ridges catching, and winced sympathetically when a spur on Topspin’s shoulder got jammed under a catchment in Leadfoot’s shoulder, though they didn’t seem to notice. The green Wrecker chuckled to himself as he watched Leadfoot chew on one of the chainlinks falling from Topspin’s helm. Those dangly things were very attention-demanding, enticing by the way they hung loosely, and it was just funny to watch. Roadbuster smiled faintly when his teammates overloaded, watching interestedly as transfluids flowed down Topspin’s spike and dripped out of the blue mech’s valve slowly.  
  
  
Leadfoot gave Topspin’s thigh a friendly swipe and turned his head to look at Roadbuster, who flapped a hand at him tiredly. Letting out a snort of amusement, Leadfoot used Topspin as a pillow, grinning at Roadbuster. “Aright?”  
  
  
“Fine.” Roadbuster flopped back down onto his back, lifting his arms into the air a little dramatically. Chortling, his teammates stretched out over each other, joints complaining a little. Topspin jammed his foot under Leadfoot’s chin, earning himself another smack; and a cackle of glee. Roadbuster laughed. “Ey, though ah was the flexible one!”  
  
  
“Nah, yer the prettyboi,” Said Leadfoot, standing up. “Ah, yeah, yer the flexible one, sure,” He assented, shrugging. “But tha reason we love getting’ yah down is cause yer too pretty t’ae be a Wrecker.”  
  
  
Roadbuster snorted, kicking on leg into the air and rolling to avoid Leadfoot’s pounce. “Pretty? Me?”  
  
  
Topspin put a foot to Roadbuster’s shoulder, pinning him. “Yep, way too pretty for the gang,” He teased, holding the green mech down for Leadfoot to sit on. “When ya picked up your car form, ya went an’ turned yourself into a ponce. Gotta ground ya again.”  
  
  
The green mech snorted again, wrapping his arms around Topspin’s leg and yanked it, unbalancing his teammate. “A ponce? Meh? An’ whadda’bout you? Yer the one with the fiddly, dangly bits.”  
  
  
Topspin huffed, and Leadfoot sniggered. “Ey, these are practical.” Topspin flicked one of his chainmail links. “They deflect shots off me neck.”  
  
  
“Admit it, you just like em cause they’re pretty,” Roadbuster grinned and sat up, only to be pushed back down and have Leadfoot straddle his abdomen. “Oof, yer a heavy bastard.”  
  
  
“Damn straight.”  
  
  
“Dey protect me neck,” repeated Topspin, poorly imitating his friends’ accent. It was an argument that they’d had since day one, and a rather pointless one at that. But they did enjoy baiting each other sometimes. “Better than dem spikey things coming outta yer head.”  
  
  
“Naw, these are real useful!” Roadbuster huffed, earning a laugh. “’Ere good as extra-mmph!”  
  
  
Unfortunately, he didn’t get to finish his sentence, because his teammates had apparently decided that he’d cooled down enough, and they’d grabbed him as one and flipped him onto his stomach. Resigned to his fate by now, he sighed and shifted his knees a little wider. There was a soft laugh behind him, and he gasped softly when three fingers pushed into his valve. Letting out a low moan, Roadbuster squirmed and clenched his valve, lifting himself with one hand to try and twist around. If he was going to be spiked until he couldn’t move, at the very least he wanted to be able to grab and damage a few panels of armour.  
  
  
After a good deal of squirming, Roadbuster found himself chest to chest with Topspin, one of Leadfoot’s hands on his aft where it could guide, or force, his movements, and Topspin’s hands and gripper claws holding his arms. “…’Ello.”  
  
  
“Yo,” Topspin practically leered. Roadbuster could feel their spikes brushing together erratically; Topspin’s was fully erect and rather hard, compared to his own, which wouldn’t pressurize fully at this point, giving a little under pressure, making it easier to feel and abuse the deep-set sensors in the core. He growled when Leadfoot’s spike pressed into his valve, and shot a glare over his shoulder; Leadfoot let his glossa flick past his lips mockingly, and nibbled on one of Roadbuster’s antenna, chuckling when the Green mech’s vocalizer shorted.  
  
  
Topspin’s mouth found Roadbuster’s throat; he purred and released his teammate’s arms, nipping and biting at delicate cables, already weakened from previous abuse. The green Impala wasted no time in bringing his finally freed limbs to Topspin’s frame, tracing down over little ridges and cylinders that extended from his abdomen. Topspin  _purred_ , glossa roughly cleaning the semi-congealed energon from Roadbuster’s neck, reopening the wound. Roadbuster made a content noise, squirming back against Leadfoot, hooking his arms around Topspin’s back to get his hands on the blue mech’s shoulder mounts. He moaned and arched at a particularly sharp thrust from behind, fingers digging into the rotators on Topspin’s shoulder mounts involuntarily, denting a ball joint.  
  
  
Leadfoot snarled and forced Roadbuster’s hips up, bending the green Wrecker’s body into an awkward position. He smirked when Roadbuster choked down a whimper and thrust in hard, trying to drag another embarrassing noise out. Topspin, however, seemed to have other ideas.  
  
  
Transformers didn’t really have mouths made for kissing; the concept was completely foreign to them anyways. They did have comparable actions though, and Topspin rubbed his cheek against Roadbuster’s, before biting down on one of the multiple prongs jutting downwards from his helm, earning a pleased rev of Roadbuster’s engine, and a dangerously affectionate nibble at the back of his neck. Revving back, Topspin flicked his optics to Leadfoot, who grinned and grabbed one of Roadbuster’s thighs, lifting it to strain the mechanism as he thrust into Roadbuster’s overtaxed valve. The green mech mewed and let his head drop down onto Topspin’s shoulder, a tremor running through his frame. He quivered visibly when Leadfoot thrust again, a low whine escaping his vocalizer.  
  
  
Gingerly, Topspin tried to work Roadbuster’s fingers out of the joints supporting his shoulder mounts, but the green mech’s hands were firmly entrenched. Chortling, Leadfoot reached in to help, and then guided Roadbuster’s hands to Topspin’s chest, where they curled around identical panels of armour. Roadbuster moaned, curling in on himself a bit as he felt Overload creeping up on him again, panting against Topspin’s neck. His teammates urged him onwards with their hands, and Leadfoot dug his fingers into Roadbuster’s hips, thrusting evenly. Roadbuster wailed and bucked backwards, frame spasming as he overloaded. His cry became a whine as Leadfoot kept thrusting, working for his own overload.  
  
  
Topspin held Roadbuster steady, nibbling on an antenna and supporting his teammate while Leadfoot bit down on one of the struts supporting Roadbuster’s shoulder mount, thrusting hard. Roadbuster gasped, burying his head under Topspin’s chin and shuddering bodily. Leadfoot finally overloaded with a snarl, and Roadbuster turned his head slightly, unwilling to move more than he had too. Topspin petted the back of Roadbuster’s neck and gently lifted him. Leadfoot growled and gripped Roadbuster’s hips tightly, unwilling to leave the other mech’s valve quite so fast. Relieved at the unexpected respite, Roadbuster offlined his optics, letting out a huff of warm air when an involuntary spasm ran through his frame. Topspin huffed and kneaded either side of Roadbuster’s neck, smearing the rivulets of energon that snuck out.  
  
  
After a few moments, Leadfoot released Roadbuster’s hips and allowed Topspin to slowly pull the green mech forward to rest on his knees. Roadbuster simply let his head fall forward onto Topspin’s shoulder, too tired to do anything except purr quietly when fingers caressed up his back, tracing soothing designs over his abused body. “Seems like he’s had enough,” Murmured Topspin. Leadfoot snorted derisively.  
  
  
“Nah, yeh just dun know how tae work ‘im up this late in the game,” The red mech brought his hands up to Roadbuster’s helm and settled them over the sensory horns there. Roadbuster quivered in anticipation, something that was almost definitely not lost on Topspin. “Watch an’ learn.”  
  
  
The green mech moaned quietly as Leadfoot applied pressure with his thumbs, squeezing the delicate protrusions with practiced precision. He let Leadfoot pull his head back, and began to croon with each stroke of the other mech’s fingers. When Leadfoot changed the pressure slight and began lightly scratching each horn, Roadbuster mewled like a kitten and wriggled shamelessly, pressing his frame against Topspin’s warm body. Leadfoot grinned over his victim’s shoulder at Topspin. “What’d ah tell yah? Ain’t even done yet. Eh Arby? Ya know what ah’m gonna do with ya.”  
  
  
Roadbuster shuddered bodily, reaching up to capture on of Leadfoot’s hands, but the exquisite attentions stilled. “Ah ah, ya know tha rules.”  
  
  
Whimpering softly, Roadbuster dropped his hands into his lap, and Leadfoot resumed his attentions, caressing the antennae in broad strokes, deepening the pressure until he scraped paint. Topspin held his teammate steady, watching the process with rapt attention.  
  
  
“Hmm, never realized they were that sensitive.”  
  
  
Leadfoot grinned. “Naw ya know why ‘e dun tell anyone.”  
  
  
“Oh yes…” Topspin stroked Roadbuster’s chest, mostly holding him steady. Roadbuster moaned, hands seeking some sort of hold, but every time they came close to either of the others Leadfoot reprimanded him until he desperately coiled his fingers around his own half-pressurizing spike. Topspin looked surprised, and rather impressed, reaching up to try and imitate Leadfoot’s motions.  
  
  
“Careful thare Spinney, dun want tae overdo it,” Leadfoot leered, nibbling on the back of Roadbuster’s neck. Topspin nodded and contented himself with running his hands over Roadbuster’s chest and sides. Leadfoot removed one hand from Roadbuster’s helm, replacing it with his mouth; His glossa lips and denta driving the green mech to mewl Leadfoot’s name pleadingly. Pleased, Leadfoot used his free hand to guide Roadbuster up, and obediently, Roadbuster went, hands settling on Topspin’s thighs so he could lower himself over the other’s spike.  
  
  
Topspin groaned, wrapping his hands around Roadbuster’s waist to control his movements. He thrust upwards and moaned when Roadbuster rocked downwards to meet him, whimpering like a turbofox in heat. Leadfoot removed his hands and mouth from the green mech’s frame and he whined plaintively. Smirking, the Red Wrecker took hold of Roadbuster’s hips to keep him steady. Taking the hint, Topspin wrapped his hands around his companion’s antennae and squeezed, making Roadbuster keen and grind downwards desperately. Unabashedly, Roadbuster dug his fingers into Topspin’s shoulders and rocked forwards, a cry escaping him as he overloaded. Topspin growled and squeezed Roadbuster’s antennae hard, drawing out the overload until it triggered his own.  
  
  
Roadbuster slumped, in all senses of the word. His frame went limp, his head fell and even the shoulder mounts, perpetually held in a ready to fire position drooped and hung as far as they would on their hinges. His spike was still extended, but the head pointed down and there was nothing left in it. He couldn’t repressurize if his life depended on it. Even if he could, he probably wouldn’t on principal anyways, to be honest. Dazed and exhausted he was vaguely aware of soothing caresses to his chest and thighs, carefully avoiding his heaving vents. He purred quietly when he was pressed between his teammates’ warm frames and repositioned to a more comfortable sitting position, supported by their bodies. For a few moments he simply took pleasure in being unable and unwilling, for once, to process every little detail around him for threat or usefulness potential, and then his exhaustion drove him to rest. His last recollection would be a vague blur of red and the sensation of being lifted before he fell into recharge mode.  
  
  
\--  
He didn’t online his optics; he just let awareness return to him slowly. He ached all the way from the joints in his shoulder mounts to his pedes. There was probably more damage to his frame than he received in a lot of battles, but damn, did Roadbuster feel good, not that he’d ever say that out loud to either Topspin or Leadfoot. They’d know anyways, and be smug about it for weeks. Slowly he became aware of softness below him, and light pressure above. Shifting only minutely, he deduced that he’d been lain on a couple fabric tarps, and another had been thrown over his lower body for good measure. Probably in case a couple of nosy humans walked in. Wouldn’t do to traumatize them, after all.  
  
  
Tiredly, Roadbuster twitched one leg, and then shuddered bodily at the sensations that ran up and down his frame from the one motion, a quiet gasp escaping him. He mustn’t have been in recharge long if his systems were still keyed up. He made the conscious decision to return to blissful recharge, and was more than happy to drift back into unconsciousness.  
  
  
\--  
  
  
Epps frowned at the empty hallway in front of him. Normally he wouldn’t complain about the Wreckers being quiet and leaving the NASA techs alone, but the smirk on Leadfoot’s face, and the slight strut in Topspin’s usual gait was making everyone nervous. Especially since no one knew where the hell Roadbuster was. One tech suggested that maybe the other two had killed him and destroyed the evidence, but every single other human being there was sane and pointed out that the Wreckers were so tightly knit and protective of each other that if something like that happened, you’d probably see some seriously radical behaviour as a warning before that. One tech had just muttered that Roadbuster was probably sulking in the bay the Wreckers used as quarters, it had once been a large hangar, and under the Wrecker’s clever hands, had become something of a maze, with two Cybertonian-scale levels and multiple rooms, including the one with the TV and the “beds” the Wreckers had set up.  
  
  
(Epps didn’t care what they said about not needing to sleep and how recharge was different, the fucking giant robots slept, sometimes even cuddled up like children, and he bloody well knew it.)  
  
  
Speaking of that TV… Epps realized that the source of the smugness and Roadbuster’s absence was likely related to the mysterious vanishing of his universal remote from his locker this morning. He paused and leaned on the wall, chortling at the realization. Though he did have to wonder how the heck any of the three mechs could even use the thing. That was that mystery solved, though Epps supposed he should go tell Roadbuster off. He climbed up a ladder to the catwalks that the Wreckers had so thoughtfully installed after someone complained about nearly getting stepped on (“Good point, it’d take ferever tae git THAT mess outta our pedes!”) and used the numbered keypad to open the human-sized door to the next room.  
  
  
The room was lit dimly by the red lights above the catwalk and Epps took a few seconds to let his eyes adjust before he looked around. He could just make out Roadbuster’s form on the bottom bunk, stretched out half on his side, facing the room. He even spotted the TV remote, laying forgotten near the Wrecker’s feet. The thing that Epps noticed most though was the dark; he couldn’t any light from Roadbuster’s optics at all, meaning the mech was in a very deep sleep, pardon, recharge. Frowning the man carefully slid down the catwalk’s ladder and walked towards the bunks, but something made him pause. After a few seconds he realized that the room smelled musty, with an underlying hint of ozone. Confused, Epps sniffed a few more times until his throat tickled and he had to cough. Wiping his eyes, Epps was startled to find the room a bit brighter, bathed in a faint blue, then he looked up and found Roadbuster observing him silently, not having moved since Epps first saw him.  
  
  
“Sorry dude didn’t mean to wake you.” Epps rubbed the back of his head. Roadbuster let out a faint neutral grunt. Epps took that as an “its fine” and put his hand on his hips. “You buddies are scaring the techs, and someone started the rumour that they’d killed you, so I had to come get proof you’re alive.”  
  
  
Roadbuster’s optics gleamed with amusement, but all Epps got out of him was another grunt. Epps stared, confused as to why the usually over energetic and talkative mech was so quiet. He looked Roadbuster over as best he could from his position. “You alright?”  
  
  
Affirmative grunt, and was that even more amusement shining in the Wrecker’s optics? Epps snorted and was about to turn away when he noticed that Roadbuster’s paint was badly scraped and scratched. And for some reason his brain presented him with the fact that the other two Wreckers had been newly polished when he saw them. Suddenly the penny dropped.  
  
  
“Oh… _oh_.” Epps’ eyes went wide. Of course he’s had the Giant Alien Robot Sex Talk when he worked with NEST. Someone had said something and Ratchet had decided to helpfully explain the subject to everyone involved (Including Bumblebee, who it turned out was so young that he’d never actually had the Autobot version of The Talk before). In the end, everyone had needed a lot of brain bleach, but the facts and knowledge did remain. Despite himself, Epps gave Roadbuster a second once over, this time realizing what must have happened; he did know how these three liked to operate. “Got you good hunh?”  
  
  
Affirmative grunt, Roadbuster blinked and his optics dimmed sleepily. Epps chuckled and crawled up the ladder that ran beside the bunks and ended up sitting a couple meters from the Wrecker’s head. He noticed, and was grateful for, a sheet or something that had been draped over Roadbuster’s midsection, mercifully shielding Epps’ eyes from seeing something he  _really_  did not want to. Epps could still see paint scraped in both Topspin and Leadfoot’s colours, and notable, a lot of paint was missing from the mech’s hands and wrists. “Teamed up on you eh?”  
  
  
Roadbuster made another grunt of affirmation and made an eye rolling gesture. Epps snickered, despite himself. Even though he really didn’t want to think about anyone getting it on (especially not giant robots, that was about a hundred kinds of weird), he had to admit that he could see the humour in this situation. “Aw, you’ll just have to work out a trap to get them back.” Roadbuster made a noise of agreement. Epps kind of wondered why the mech wasn’t talking, and his brain helpfully called of the memory of a former girlfriend who’d always been hoarse after sex- because she’d been a screamer.  
  
  
Now THAT really was not a mental image Epps needed. Something of his horror must have shown on his face because Roadbuster made a curious noise. Shaking his head the human did his best to dispel the notion. “Sorry dude... mental image that I did NOT need.”  
  
  
  
 _Grunt_. Now Roadbuster sounded positively gleeful. Epps glared at the mech for a few seconds then shook his head. “Anyways, I’m gonna grab the remote and go. No more stealing it, got it, or I’ll find a way to give those two handcuffs that’ll work on you, got it?”  
  
  
Roadbuster made a mock-frightened noise and huffed through his vents at the human, who laughed. “Guess I should let you get your beauty sleep eh? See you later.”  
  
  
The green mech growled after the human, but he was evidently unwilling to actually move to do anything. Epps climbed up to the catwalk, then paused and looked back at Roadbuster. “You alright? I mean, do you need anything?”  
  
  
There was a negative grunt, and Roadbuster gave the human consultant a wry smile. Epps wasn’t sure what it meant, but he nodded and continued on his way. So getting laid mellowed Autobots out too, good to know.  
\--  
  
  
A couple weeks later, Leadfoot was sorting through some supplies that he and the other had gathered, mostly Decepticon remains from Chicago, hoping to find enough metal to melt down for parts. It seemed like enough, but he didn’t like the grade of metal he was finding. Something caught his attention and he went to investigate it. It looked like someone had cut away a section of the floor and replaced it with intermittent black and grey paneling. Frowning, he looked to where Topspin was sorting the materials that they’d deemed acceptable. “Ey Spinny.”  
  
  
“Yeah?” Topspin barely glanced up.  
  
  
“Yah replace the floor panels?”  
  
  
“No,” the Blue mech stood up and walked over to take a look. “Did Roadbuster?”  
  
  
“Dunno, if it weren’t ‘im, we’d better check with ta humans.”  
  
  
“Mhmm…” Topspin cautiously prodded one of the black panels with his foot, and then knelt down to examine it more closely. “Hold on, these have an energy field to them.”  
  
  
Leadfoot immediately took two steps back, and Topspin did so too, in the opposite direction. Suddenly there was a buzz of electrical systems, and translucent barriers sprung up, trapping each mech in his own quarter of the room. Leadfoot cursed, but Topspin was staring at the door.  
  
  
“You absolute, cunning bastard,” He said, sounding torn between admiration and annoyance. Leadfoot looked up and followed his gaze to the door, where Roadbuster was leaning casually with an absolutely predatory grin on his face, and a pair of energon cuffs spinning around a finger. Despite himself Leadfoot was impressed. Roadbuster stepped away from the door and approached the barriers that he must have designed and worked on when the other two weren’t looking.  
  
  
“Din’t think ah’d forget about teh other week, didja?” He murmured, looking his teammates up and down critically. Smirking, he continued to spin the cuffs. “Figured out haw t’a git ya both back.”  
  
  
Well damn. Leadfoot spread his arms in surrender; sometimes, you just had to admit that you’d been beat, and beat well. Topspin made a similar gesture, and Roadbuster’s optic’s dimmed thoughtfully, glancing between the two of them. Suddenly, he straightened, and smiled.  
  
  
“So…” He said, grin widening. “Which one of yeh two’s ferst?”


End file.
